


My Home Has Been Taken From Me

by oh_ms_omegalomaniac



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Abuse warning, Angst, Domestic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peterick, Well - Freeform, domestic abuse, im sorry for writing this, more bands and characters to be added later, more tags to be added later, of course, self harm warning, ummm - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3997465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_ms_omegalomaniac/pseuds/oh_ms_omegalomaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete Wentz on your doorstep would be strange in any situation- he's the king of the Chicago hardcore scene, a legend in Patrick Stump's eyes. </p><p>But a badly hurt, terrified and desperate Pete Wentz?</p><p>Now that is really strange. Really, really strange, and not good at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Desperate.

 

Patrick can think of so many other words to describe the man on his doorstep- _dirty, thin, hurt, terrified, beautiful_ \- but the one that stands out in his mind is desperate. Because that's what the short man standing opposite looks to be.

 

He's gasping for breath, tear tracks cutting their way through his filthy cheeks, messy hair matted with something dark and red.

 

"Please, please, I'm so sorry, I didn't know where else to go, I'm so sorry..."

 

Patrick doesn't know how to respond, doesn't know what to say, because he's finally been able to look past the grime and the blood and the fear and identify the man on his doorstep. Pete Wentz, former bassist of Arma Angelus, superstar of the Chicago hardcore scene. Patrick has only met Pete twice before: once, when Joe hurriedly introduced Wentz to Patrick at some party before dragging Patrick away to meet someone else, and once, when Joe and Pete crashed at Patrick's after a show.

 

That must be how Pete knows where he lives, Patrick thinks distractedly, as he reaches a hand out to steady the man. Pete looks like he is about to collapse but he pulls away from Patrick anyway, letting out a yelp of fear and staggering backwards.

 

"Oh god, please, I'll go-"

 

"Sh, I'm not going to hurt you. It's okay. It's okay."

 

The blond man doesn't know what else to say, doesn't know what to say to take away the wild fear in the bassist's eyes, so he just takes a step back and opens the door wide.

 

"Come in. Please."

 

Meeting eyes with Pete, the terror in those wide eye browns scares Patrick a little and he shudders inwardly as the man on his doorstep stares back at him.

 

"I can- I can come in?"

 

"Yes, holy smokes, you're hurt bad."

 

Nodding in silent agreement with Patrick's statement, Pete looks around fearfully before staggering through the doorway. Patrick follows him in and closes the door quickly, scanning the bassist from head to toe.

 

Ouch.

 

Patrick slowly begins to identify each of his injuries while Pete stares at him warily. The man is ridiculously thin, ribs clearly visible under the ripped fabric of the black shirt he's wearing. He's got some sort of head wound, a nasty black eye and purpling bruises dotting his visible skin and disappearing into his shirt. Nothing that won't heal with time, but the amount of blood staining his hair worries Patrick.

 

Well, worries him the most at present. He's trying to push everything else out of his mind, the questions of how Pete got here and why he's so hurt and why he's so terrified, so different from the arrogant man Patrick has seen screaming his heart out on stage.

 

"What happened?"

  
Pete lets out a terrified squeak at Patrick's question and clamps his hand over his mouth, shaking his head frantically.

 

"No no no no no-"

 

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me- Pete, calm down!"

 

The use of his name seems to shock the dark haired man out of his panic. Patrick sighs once, relieved, and smiles as encouragingly as he can at Pete.

 

"You should have a shower, yeah? It's right through here."

 

Keeping his voice soft, Patrick directs the shaking man to his bathroom. Pete closes the door softly behind him, sending one last fearful glance over his shoulder, and Patrick holds his breath until he hears the water running.

 

Okay.

 

Now what does he do?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wait, hm, maybe I lied when I said this wasn't going to updated. hm. sorry about that.

Now what does he do?

 

There's a terrified rock star in his shower, a terrified rock star with horrible injuries and fear in his eyes when he looks at Patrick. Something’s happened to Pete, something bad that’s scared him.

 

Something bad that’s happened over time, Patrick thinks sadly, as he remembers the scars and fading bruises dotting the man’s golden skin. For an incomprehensible moment, the blond man is filled with rage at the person that has done this to Pete and all he can think of his finding that person and fucking ending them, because Pete Wentz is supposed to be strong and defiant and confident and not scared of a short, pudgy guy like Patrick.

 

And then the noise of the shower shuts off and Patrick is jolted out of his anger. His mind goes back to the immediate problem- Pete is hurt.

 

Bad. 

 

The first aid training his mum made him and Kevin do when they were kids is starting to come back to Patrick and he quickly moves to the kitchen of his tiny unit. There it is, tucked away in the back of his pantry, the Tupperware container with a random assortment of bandages and such that he’s gotten together over the years. Not that there’s been many years- he’s only been away from home and had to collate his own first aid kit for just over two years- but enough. 

 

He pulls out a couple of cloth bandages, band aids, antiseptic shit his that he’s had to use to clean gravel out of way too many of his own skinned knees, and turns, almost jumping at the sight of the other man nervously pressed up against the bathroom door. 

 

Maybe it’s wrong for him to be admiring Pete now, when the dark haired man is battered and bruised and petrified, but the bassist is beautiful. He’s wrapped one of Patrick’s towels around his waist but apart from the fluffy white material, he’s not wearing anything. Rivulets of water run down his chest and it’s hard for Patrick not to just stand there and stare.

 

“Is it okay if I used the towel, I’m sorry, I’ve probably gotten it dirty, I’m sorry, I can change back into my clothes if you want me to?”

 

Pete trails away when Patrick doesn’t answer, and if possible, presses himself even further away from the blond man. Dragging his eyes away from the dark haired man, Patrick takes a step forward and instantly regrets it when Wentz lets out a cry of fear.

 

Raising his hands slowly in a surrender, Patrick moves back slowly and inches towards his bedroom, keeping his eyes locked on Pete's wide eye browns the entire time. The bassist simply stares back at him.

 

"It's okay, don't worry about it. You can borrow some of my clothes, yeah? It's okay."

 

He keeps talking like that, voice low and sweet, humming when he runs out of reassuring words. He manages to find some clothes and give them to Pete, trying not to focus on the way the man flinches violently away when Patrick gets too close.

 

Pete's obviously not okay with Patrick being anywhere near him, so how on earth is Patrick supposed to help him? 

 

The shirt Patrick's given him is a little too small for Pete, and it's holy as fuck, geez- the blond man berates himself silently for a moment until he catches a glimpse of Pete's ribcage that can be seen through the holes. He must be hungry. 

 

That's a sure way to try and get Pete to trust him, Patrick thinks determinedly, and gives Pete what he thinks is a reassuring smile before he gets up slowly and finds some leftovers from last night's meal to heat up.

 

When Joe found that dog on the streets, he got it to trust him by feeding it. This can't be that different, can it?


	3. Chapter 3

It can’t be that difficult, can it?

It can. It really can.

It doesn’t take more than a few minutes to heat up the leftovers- Chinese takeaway, courtesy of the little shop down the road from Patrick’s place- but the wait is awkwardly silent. Patrick doesn’t try to talk. 

(And of course Pete doesn’t. The bassist simply remains standing, pressed up against the wall with fingers tapping nervously. He can’t seem to stay still- Pete is either fidgeting with his hair, or tugging at the shirt that rides up a little every time he moves, or biting his nails whenever Patrick throws a casual glance his way.)

The microwaves eventually dings and the blond man takes out the food quickly. His mouth waters a little as he searches through the cupboards to find a fork or something but he ignores the slight hunger. Pete is priority here. 

Keeping his movements slow, Patrick makes his way over to the shitty table in the middle and carefully places the food down in the chair closest to Pete. 

“Here, do you want something to eat?”

Quickly moving away to give Pete space, Patrick watches in relief as the dark haired man slowly pads over to the table, taking a seat and ducking his head awkwardly before digging in. 

It’s horrible to see someone like this, leaning over food like it’s going to be taken away from them, shoveling the meal like it’s their last meal. For what seems like the tenth time tonight, Patrick wonders what the hell happened to Pete to make him... like this… and then drags his thoughts away from all the horrible possibilities. 

He can’t stop thinking about it and then at the same time can’t think of anything else. 

“Um, excuse me?”

Patrick’s expression must be as distant as he is right now because Pete speaks up nervously like he thinks Patrick won’t respond. 

“Thank you very much for that. I’m sorry, I don’t have anything to give you in return. Can I… can I do anything for you? Please?”

If possible, Pete seems to get even more nervous as he continues talking. 

“You didn’t have to do this, you really didn’t…”

“You don’t need to do anything for me. It’s okay, Pete. Don’t worry about it, yeah?” 

Nodding, somewhat satisfied by Patrick’s answer, Pete stands awkwardly and pushes his chair back. 

The silence in the room is stifling and Patrick wants to say something- anything! - that will break it and make Pete smile or talk or do something that’s not flinch back whenever he gets too close.

“Do you want to stay here for the night? I can spend a night on the couch, you can have my bed, and then we can see what happens tomorrow?”

“What?”

“You can stay here for the night if you want?”

For a moment Pete’s face has lost the fear and nerves- his eyebrows rise and his face contorts itself into what could almost be called a smile. Then any trace of surprise is replaced with cynicism, and then, relief. 

“You’d do that? Why?”

Shrugging, Patrick busies himself with cleaning up the meal. He knows why, duh. Pete’s upset and hurt and possibly in danger from whoever or whatever did this to him, and the bassist doesn’t seem to have anywhere else to go. Why would he show up at Patrick’s place otherwise?

Pete seems to realize that he’s not going to get a response and nods slowly. 

"That would be good. Safe for me, I think?"

Patrick's not entirely sure why Pete phrases his words as a question, but shrugs and nods. That seems to satisfy Pete and with another awkward ducking of his head, he pads away through the open door leading to Patrick's room.

Smiling quietly, Patrick resigns himself to a night on the couch. It's okay. It's fine. Pete will stay the night, and start to trust him, and he can get him to a doctor or something and call Joe and everything is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not the best tbh just a filler really


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it'd be real nice if italics worked aND MY INTERNET WORKED BUT YKNOW all your comments on this are really lovely, thank you all so much!

It’s not really a surprise when Pete starts screaming.

 

Okay, Patrick’s lying- it is. It’s a horrible and most definitely unwelcome surprise. 

 

The terrified yowling scares him awake in what must be the middle night, judging by the way it’s pitch black outside and the drool on his couch pillow. He trips over the coffee table in his haste to get to Pete but pulls himself up, ignoring the twinging in his knee and what is probably blood dripping down his shin.

 

Shit shit shit got to get to Pete something’s wrong something’s wrong he’s screaming something’s wrong shit shit shit-

 

Jolting to a stop when he sees the scene in front of him, Patrick is so relieved when he sees that there’s no dark, shadowy intruder in his bedroom attacking Pete like he had imagined. Instead, the dark haired man is tangled in the blankets, eyes wild with fear and hands thrown over his head in, what, an attempt to protect himself? 

 

From what?

 

“Pete?”

 

Speaking seems to be a mistake, no matter how quiet and calming Patrick attempts to make his voice, because Pete cringes at the sounds and slams his eyes shut.

 

Shit.

 

Pete is terrified of him, holy shit, what the hell does he do? He’s so out his league here, Patrick thinks desperately, and for a moment he just wants to give up. To go back to his couch and go back to sleep and then call Joe in the morning to take Pete off his hands.

 

But he’s not that shitty a person. No way.

 

What does he do?

What on earth do you say to someone fucking terrified of you?!

 

Patrick has no idea.

 

So he doesn’t say anything.

 

He just sings something.

 

It’s not like his voice is anything special, or anything like that. No. Sure, he was in choir and shit and his friends were always bugging him to ‘open your FUCKING MOUTH AND SING DAMMIT’ but y’know that’s just friends being dorks, right?

 

Okay, maybe he’s proud of his voice. And maybe he sang to Megan when she broke her arm, maybe, he noticed a little how when he hummed Pete’s shoulders lost their tension and how he stopped shaking, just a little. Just a little.

 

He sings the first song that comes to his head- some beautiful acoustic thing by some kids he saw at Warped last summer. They sucked live, but he googled them afterwards and their recorded stuff is just beautiful.

 

“Just lift your head up higher,  
I’ll be here when you’re tired.  
We need some peace.  
Just get some sleep.”

 

Patrick continues with the song, diving back into the chorus of it and hoping that the casual declarations of love in the lyrics won’t freak Pete out to much.

 

It takes a few lines, but the dark haired man calms, lowering his arms slowly and opening his eyes. 

 

It takes the rest of the song, but the dark haired man smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter sorry


End file.
